She had not much, but still, far more than I, having made a niche for herself on the pinnacle of fame, and often selling a work of creative art for eight or even ten pounds. She promised, therefore, that when the time came for me to earn money on the boards and draw a salary in keeping with the dignity of a London actor, she would let me take the financial lead, so to speak, and richly reward her for her generosity of the past. In fact, it was understood that if Aunt Augusta cast her bread upon the waters, in scriptural language, it would return to her after many days—not like the talent hidden in the napkin, but more like the widow’s cruse of oil, that increased a thousand-fold. I knew of course that this must happen, and I think she felt there was more than an off-chance of it. At any rate, she went on hopefully casting. So we visited Brittany, and I enjoyed the interesting experience of a foreign land and a foreign language in my ears, together with foreign food and foreign money. A volume, of course, might be written about Brittany, and, as a matter of fact, many volumes have been; but it is not my intention to say anything on the subject here; because, upon my return to London, much happened of a very abnormal character, and my recollection of the peaceful days, when I practised elocution in the sand dunes and Aunt Augusta painted pictures of the rather tame scenery, was speedily swept away to limbo. Moreover, I had now reached within a week of my eighteenth birthday and, by a rather curious coincidence, the dreadful events now convulsing the metropolis culminated on that anniversary. But I must not anticipate. Though the proletariat was getting a good deal out of hand when I came back from France, no actual collision had taken place with Law and Order; but, to use a well-known figure of speech, the lion was aroused and roaring, though he had not yet emerged from his den. To drop metaphor, I may say that Labour was up in arms against Capital, and Political Economy was at the last gasp. At this grave crisis I found myself summoned once again to assist our West-End Branch, and then discovered, to my astonishment, that the proletariat had selected Trafalgar Square as a sort of rallying-ground for their forces. Indeed, scenes of great unrest were daily enacted in that famous centre of civilisation.